te_adrian (![]() ![]() @ 2008-09-02 10:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | * september 2001, - complete, adrian pucey, marcus flint |
RP: RP: "Grocery" shopping and Gossip
Date: 02 Sept. 2001; just before lunch
Characters: Adrian Pucey, anyone out and about
Location: Slug & Jiggers Apothecary in Diagon
Private/Public: Public
Rating: n/a
Warnings: n/a
Summary: Adrian does his supply shopping for the above-the-board aspects of his business.
Completion: Complete.
Adrian was in search of an assortment of uncut roots and other ingredients (students ordering stink bombs and love potions before the start of the new term had nearly cleaned him out), and so he wrapped himself in a deep red traveling cloak and floo'ed to the Leaky Cauldron. Leaving the dingy pub with a nod toward the bar man (a disgusting creature, really, but great for local resources and news) he went straight for Slug and Jigger's, ignoring the small smattering of witches and wizards doing their morning errands. Stepping into the shop, he was glad to see it moderately busy but not too much so, and he took out a list he'd prepared the evening before. There were items for the hospital work he was doing (bobotuber, fluxweed, and bezoars) and for the other work he did (sneezewort, asphodel, and levisticum officinale). He would only be picking up the fluxweed and bezoars here - he found their bobotuber to be much more viscous than necessary, as they could then jack up the price for an ounce without witches and wizards realizing it.
Making his selections immediately, he decided it wouldn't hurt to see what else they may have gotten in fresh, and so he took his time milling about the store, finding that the usual smell of rotten eggs in the air didn't seem nearly as strong these days.
While he wiled about, he picked up a copy of the latest Evening Prophet and snorted in derision to himself; Oliver Wood, hometown hero of Quidditch. Sure. Adrian remembered more than one game when he and his fellow Slytherin chasers had wiped the pitch with Wood, attempting poorly to keep for Gyrffindor. Arms so wide you could drive a Knight Bus through them, he thought. Shaking his head with a small, malicious smile, Adrian dropped the paper and continued his shopping, being sure to listen in as the elderly witches gossiped their morning away over cartons of beetle eyes and tubes of substandard bobotuber.